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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534983">A Gentlemanly Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak'>Darke_Eco_Freak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mild Blood, Post-DMC4, Riding, Smoking, partial trigger during sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:46:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If she’s got a name, he never learns it, and if he’s told her his, she doesn’t care. He calls her ma’am and she drawls cowboy; it’s unattached, just the way they like it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Gentlemanly Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They meet when he’s out on a long distance hunt, a stop-over somewhere south where the alcohol’s piss but hey, it’s cheap. She’s all dark eyes and dark lips curling up into a perfect dark smirk; watching him from the bar and ain’t even hiding it. Up when he leans on the cue, down when he bends over the table, and razor sharp when he laughs and snags his winnings.</p><p>Dante’s there because he needs a cool down after the hunt. A lil something something before he heads back home to split the take between rent, bills, and pizza. He never does figure out why she’s there, if it’s work, pleasure, or a slum night. Cuz that joint’s a shit hole, just a place for gutter trash to wash up before they get shoved along.</p><p><em>She</em> is not that. She’s leather he’s gotta save years for. She’s make-up like Lady’s always complaining about. She’s an apartment with a twinkle-crinkle view and more square feet than his whole shop, <em>and</em> a bed that’s big enough for his trigger, and then some.</p><p>The to and from the bar gets lost when she calls them a cab and shoves him in the back, flinging a fistful of fifties at the driver to hit it. Dante doesn’t remember the blur of lights so much as the smear of lips, sliding together and apart, her breath hot in his ear about how <em>good</em> he’d look laid out in her bed. Couldn’t focus on the streets when she was there, right there, warm and soft and pressed against him perfect-tight.</p><p>Maybe they stumbled out the cab, or maybe they didn’t. Does he remember the elevator that first time? Not sure. Doesn’t matter, cuz he was kissing her again. Tasting higher shelf shit than he smelled at the bar, smooth and slick on her tongue when she licked into his mouth. They’d fallen through a door, hers, and into the living room.</p><p>A couch there, plush cushions that felt great even through his duster. She’d crawled into his lap then and there, pinning him down with a look and a smile. Dante’d wanted to take it to the bedroom, see that bed she was teasing him with, but she’d got his jacket off, and shirt buckles open, and her hands were so <em>warm</em>.</p><p>She’d rode him exhausted on the couch that first time. Her exhaustion of course, cuz she was human and he had demon blood and there was no <em>way</em> a human could tire him out. So what if he’d been fuzzy and dazy when he'd carried her to the bed? Or if he’d collapsed into those real nice sheets the second his knees hit the side?</p><p>So what? Didn’t mean a thing, he was just tired from the hunt.</p><p>First time shoulda been the last and only time. He left before she woke up, she didn’t seem the type to do long term/distance, and that was that.</p><p>Except that wasn’t that. Cuz three months later, when he was down in that town again, he just so happened to find her in the same old bar. Smoking something expensive and devil infused, telling him flat out she knew what he was and winking cuz she didn’t give a shit. Dark eyes and darker tastes, not bad.</p><p>They didn’t make it to the apartment the second time; she had a car parked down the road and the tint was pitch black-out.</p><p>“So’s the cowboy get up just for the job?” she’d asked, while he tugged her shirt over her head, leather jacket already shucked in the back.</p><p>“Was the cig just to impress me?” he’d shot right back, and her smile’d been <em>wicked</em> as she slid down on his cock. Hot and wet and <em>fucking<strong> hell</strong></em>.</p><p>The second time had been less frantic, less learning, but it’d been fucking intense. When she ground down and squeezed, dragging wheezing growls out of his chest. When he sat up and shifted, snapped his hips up and kissed the breath out of her. He came first, biting it into her shoulder, drinking it from her blood. She came after, snarling it in his ear and scratching it up his back.</p><p>She’d offered him one of the cigarettes after, sprawled out all beautiful. With her chest rising-falling so steady and her eyes still blown out black. Held one out to him, pink filter and grey paper.</p><p>“Custom made, cowboy,” she’d purred, and how could he turn down such a nice gift?</p><p>He’d lit it off hers, leaned over her and touched tip to burning tip. Tasting the sweet on her breath then in the smoke and choked his first lungful when the kick hit.</p><p>She’d laughed, while she rubbed his back and cooed at him. A soft, shushing kinda laugh that was actually pretty nice, made him feel like not the biggest dumbass for once. Even though he had to give back her smoke after one pull.</p><p>They didn’t exchange names then, or the third time, not the fourth either, and by the eighth, it was just their thing, right? No names, no talking, just drinking and fucking. In her very nice cars or her apartment or a hotel room she was renting for the night.</p><p>He comes back from Fortuna, spic and span and ready to forget, and she’s there when he knocks. Hair down, wrapped in a silk robe that feels pretty under his hands.</p><p>She doesn’t ask about the blood under his nails, or the char on his coat, or the scales running up-down his arms. She never does.</p><p>“Looking for something hard, cowboy?” is all she says in her not-a-question way, and hands him a bottle of liquid gold to glug while she drags him into her lap.</p><p>She’s got the softest hands, not working hands, and they feel great on his chest; working his cut shirt open, palming his tits, thumbs tweaking nipples. She stutters over the scar—<em>scars</em> criss-crossing his chest, lips don’t twitch, breath doesn’t even hitch. He’d think she didn’t notice, except that she traces them perfectly. Up from ribs to throat, down a slash from collar to pec, another one busting through his sternum.</p><p>Dante thinks about those scars sometimes. How he should be riddled through with holes and bites and slashes and gashes, but he’s not. Everything heals up so perfect and nice, great complexion, except for <em>those</em> scars. And one cutting into his palm, one that never really healed even after all these years.</p><p>“So, had something in mind, sweetie?” she asks after…a while. When he’s done guzzling down her liquor and she’s done feeling him up, at least for the minute. When he’s had a chance to breathe and start to forget, about another asshole after his dad’s power and a kid that’s a lil too close to home.</p><p>Nero, what a kid. Dante probably shoulda stuck around, teach him how to deal with the great Sparda legacy. He shoulda looked a lil harder into why the hell Yamato took to him so easy, but Dante was…well he wasn’t fucking tired because his body just didn’t get tired anymore. He could go-go-go until his brain shut the hell down, so nah, he wasn’t tired, but he <em>was</em> drained.</p><p>And, as much as he loved Lady and Trish, they just couldn’t take him outta his head the way this woman could. She didn’t care about Dante the Son of Sparda, shit, did she even know that was who he was? Maybe yes, maybe no, didn’t matter to her either way. Why’d she always invite him back to her place? Cuz he was a great fuck that’d be gone by morning and never got clingy.</p><p>“Ugh, shit day at work,” he sighs, throwing a arm over his eyes and his head back for her. Soft fingers trail up his throat without hesitation, stroking his Adam’s apple, pressing harder on the jugular. A demon’d rip it out if they got half the chance, all she does is squeeze once and move on.</p><p>“Maybe I can take your mind off it, cowboy,” she hums, like there’s any question she can. Of course she can, it’s just how. What’ll she do tonight?</p><p>Tie him down with blessed chains? Oh he liked that one, cuffs digging into his wrists, links clinking so loud in his head while his cock bobbed between his legs. Hard and leaking onto her nice floor, not that he could do anything about that, not that she’d wanted him to.</p><p>Maybe she’d order him around, take the choice right out of his hands? Mmm, that sounded nice. No thinking about how to keep Nero alive or which gate to break next or where the hell Yamato was. No statue trying to squish him, no fake demons flying. Just here, just her.</p><p>“Whatever you say ma’am,” he mumbles, smiling at her tracing finger. Trailing along his jaw now, up-up across his cheek and bumping into his arm. Ma’am’s part of the cowboy thing, manners he don’t got given to a woman who don’t give a shit. If he had a hat, he’d tip it, and she’d knock it right off his head.</p><p>They end up in the bedroom, like they usually-but-not-always do; with her on the bed, legs crossed, silk falling open. With him standing right in front of her, down to just his shirt and nothing else. Jacket hung on a hook just for him, pants folded all neat, even his boots are standing by the door. He’s down to just the shirt she already unbuckled and he doesn’t feel…he shouldn’t feel anything really, he’s streaked before, fought buck ass naked before. They’ve been here before, but…but maybe not exactly like this.</p><p>With the lights still on, dim sure but still buzzing in the back of his brain, and her just watching him. Tracing the planes of his stomach and the hang of his cock with the kinda detached interest he’s seen in people too good with sharp-pointies. She looks like she wants to slice him open, peel back the skin, poke the muscle, find out what makes him tick.</p><p>But she wouldn’t, she’s had every chance before and never took it, she’ll leave it now too but the thought still burns in his chest. Of her in sterile white with a mask covering her eyes and gloves that catch on his skin. He can almost taste the silver off the scalpel she’d use, sharper than sharp, colder than cold, cutting him open so easy.</p><p>She uncrosses her legs, giving him a glimpse of the prize, and he forgets all about silver and shine. He takes a whiff, a lung deep sniff, and shudders at the scent of warm musk and human lust; she’s already wet and he just wants to lose himself in her. Taste of her, smell of her, slick clench of her around his tongue or his fingers, maybe his cock if she’s being real nice.</p><p>“Knees,” she drawls and he drops.</p><p>The carpet’s plush under his knees, nice, and he always figured it was for her play toys, mostly human cuz he never smelled no other demons. He’s been fucked into this carpet before, rug burn bright and burning on his knees and elbows. He’s rutted into her on it too, braced against the bed with a hand holding her tight against him.</p><p>Tonight he might be spending all his time down here, not that he’s complaining cuz man, what a view. Up-up between her spread legs at her cunt glistening in the dim-buzz light and further over her soft stomach that wears bites so well. More to her tits that he loves to mouth at, kiss and worship whenever she lets him, and those dark eyes glittering down, amused like the twitch of her lips and cant of her hips.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t ask, they don’t have to. Her fingers tangle in his hair and he leans into the splay of her thighs in one relaxed motion. She yanks as he laps, keeping the pressure steady-heady as he devours her cunt. Licking into her folds, the way she likes, and avoiding the clit like she’s told him.</p><p>They’ve met enough times that there’s no stumbling-bumbling between them, no needing to get told where to touch and how to hold. There’s no touching, not so quick, Dante keeps his hands folded behind his back and she drapes a single leg over his shoulder, hooking and dragging him closer. Until he’s drowning in the smell, taste, feel of her; of her cunt, her slick, the squeeze of her thighs tight enough to block out the world.</p><p>He can hear her heartbeat <em>bup-bup-budup </em>in her chest and the rush of her blood warm in her veins, and there’s part of him. Ohh that primal, nasty, came-from-his-Daddy part that wants to rip into the meat of her muscle and lick up all that pretty red just like he’s eating out her pretty cunt. Wants to smear her blood and her slick on his lips until there’s just a mix of carnal quick in his mouth.</p><p>A scratch of nails, bite of pain, and she’s jerking him back, by the hair. Pulling him away with a steady pressure that he can’t fight, even though he could, even though she’s only human. Doesn’t matter that she’s wearing blessed metal or got magic twined around her wrist. He could fight her, he could—listen, do what she wants. <strong><em>That’s</em> </strong>what he wants.</p><p>“Getting a lil carried away, are we cowboy?” she pants, slow-steady and still in control. Even though she’s got red bit lips and lust dark eyes, and her hips are still rocking, and her pussy’s still leaking. Making a mess on the sheets, already made a mess of his face.</p><p>Dante licks stray drops of it from his lips, the corner of his mouth, even down his chin with a tongue that rasps nearly too rough. Oh but that ain’t why she dragged him away, she likes a lil pain in her fun. No she—he was getting too close. He can feel it now, that pulse and throb like lightning in his gut electrifying his bones.</p><p>Flexes his fingers and claws dig into his rough palms, straightens up out of his hunch and feels the play of scales over muscles, wings tucked up against his back. Not a…not a full trigger, because there’s no crackle of limitless energy and <em>fuck</em> it’s been a while since he lost control like that but still too much, too close.</p><p>Everything’s too close to the surface, bubble and boiling over. Nero and Yamato and Vergil, always fucking Vergil coming back someway, somehow to fuck up everything. Dante can’t—</p><p>“Eyes on me, cowboy,” she says, quiet and slow, tipping his face up to look her in the eyes and knock him out of his head. She cups his cheek and strokes his cheekbone and doesn’t care about the smatter of scales there, or the forked tongue that flickers out to lick her wrist. She smiles, her usual smile, and leads him by the face up-up onto the bed.</p><p>He could take charge, do what his instincts are growling-howling in his head demanding he do. Pin her down and fuck her raw, make her feel every inch and drag of him until she can’t breathe, until she’s full of nothing but him. Stake his claim, she’s his, this is his. Not Sparda, not Vergil, not the god damn kid. She’s his and he’s gotta make sure the world knows before somebody else swoops in.</p><p>She’d like it, he knows she would. She knows about demons and devils, knows about him, she wouldn’t stop him, but he didn’t…Dante doesn’t…</p><p>“Stop thinking so hard,” she whispers and kisses his cheek, then the tip of his nose, across to the other side. She holds him there, kneeling over her, hulking so huge but bowing to anything she wants.</p><p>The kiss could be bloody and sharp, he could shred her tongue and mangle her lips, but he doesn’t want that. Dante’s whimpering into the taste of her mouth instead, mix of fruity alcohol and her own slick, where his tongue’s smearing it around. He’s resting against her gentle-careful, scales scraping against the softness of her and scratching but not ripping.</p><p>A touch on his shoulder, a brush along his hip, down his thigh; she handles him so easy. Gets him down on the bed, sitting down for her so she can settle in his lap. With her hands pressed against his scaled-burning chest and her knees biting into the mattress beside his hips, spines just barely digging into her skin.</p><p>His cock is bigger in trigger, like everything is, and he thinks she’ll only let him rut against her stomach, into her hand if he’s lucky. But no, but <em>fuck</em>. She—shit, loops her arms around his neck and <em>fuck!</em></p><p>“<em>Breathe</em>, cowboy,” she moans, face tucked up against his throat, nipping the delicate skin.</p><p>“Yes,<em> ma’am</em>” he chokes, with his head tipped back and his eyes shut tight. He listens to her, does what she says, breathes deep and hard as she slides down-down onto his cock. As she’s hot and warm and slick-wet-<em>fuck.</em>  </p><p>The feeling is…its different, <strong><em>better</em></strong>, better than when his skin’s human because his trigger was made for more than a human ever was. His cock’s <em>ridged</em>, and so much more sensitive, he can feel every slow inch of her dropping lower-lower on him. Swallowing him bit by shuddering bit until she takes as much as she can but with so much more to spare.</p><p>And a real devil would fuck up into her anyway, make her take all of it, but Dante isn’t that and never has been. He gets a shaking hand around her waist, helps hold her there while she pants against his throat, adjusting to how deep, how thick. He strokes her back while she does, claws digging into soft skin but not breaking, scales catching but not tearing.</p><p>They wait there, her on her knees, him with his heart in his mouth, waiting for the too much to be not enough. And it comes, like it always comes. And it starts with her rocking, slow-slowly, and grinding just the smallest bit down. Resting her weight on his arm where he’s holding her effortlessly, so easy.</p><p>Then it’s her lifting herself up-up on his cock, halfway off and grinding back down, as far as she can. Growling into the warmth of his neck, nails finding the skin between scales and digging in deep, hard enough to bleed. Silver instead of copper, silver in his nose that makes him shudder, makes his cock twitch and her snarl and want to go fast.</p><p>They both want to fuck into each other as hard as they ever do, make enough noise to heckle the neighbours and get her another noise complaint, but they can’t this time. Not this time.  </p><p>Right now is careful-slow, careful-sweet. Lifting and grinding and <strong><em>squeezing</em></strong> wet and hot, fulling each other up and taking each other deep. Dante guides her, with a hand locked on her hip and one between her shoulder blades, hand splayed wide to hold her against his chest. The softness of her pressed against the sharp edge of him, taking him so good, so <em>fucking</em> <em>good</em>.</p><p>There’s no rhythm that matters when they rut against each other, not any time, there’s just the feeling of it. If they want to go faster, slower, harder, softer. If she wants to bite him until his skin breaks under her blunt teeth and if he wants to scratch her until the air’s full of copper to match the silver.</p><p>When she cums he almost doesn’t notice, too lost in the clutch of her cunt and snap of her teeth. She snarls against his throat though, and rips her face away, dark eyes black as she grabs his face and hauls him in for another kiss. One that tastes like silver this time, and heat, and her own hissed breath.</p><p>She rides him while she cums, hips stuttering, snarls stuttering into moans as she cums on him, around him, wet and leaking all along his cock. He almost doesn’t notice when he cums after her, too lost in the slicker slide as she starts bouncing on him. Reaching down to fling his arm off her hip so she can move however the hell she wants.</p><p>Erratic, but they still don’t need a rhythm, just what feels good. And feels good right into another orgasm that arches her back and growls in his throat. That presses them flush against each other and leaves them there to ride out the shockwaves.</p><p>He comes down in stages; scales fading, claws going, head all full of cotton. She takes a minute to bask before she’s back on task, climbing off of him on legs like jelly but climbing off anyway. Doesn’t go far of course, just sits up against the bedhead and drags out some wipes from her side table.</p><p>She takes care of clean up most of the time, wiping herself down and clean before offering him the box. Always some expensive brands he never knows, always smelling real nice and feeling even better on his skin.</p><p>They don’t talk in the afterglow, or at all, but she does pat the pillow next to her and he crawls up to it. He lays down, sinking into those nice sheets and that nice bed while she gets out one of her smokes, the non-devil kind. And there’s no talking, still, but her hand does drop down to his hair, carding through it slow and steady, so-so soothing until he’s somewhere almost asleep.</p><p>Not quite, never all the way there, but good enough. A place where the smell of smoke doesn’t rip down his spine and a soft hand in his hair doesn’t make him ache. A place that he can have at least sometimes, far and away from everything else. When he really needs it.</p>
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